


Interlude Music

by GoddessofBirth



Series: Tag You're It [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek continues to be assinine, Episode Tag, Gen, Internal Monologue, M/M, Other, Pre-Slash, Stiles is more like Derek than he thinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessofBirth/pseuds/GoddessofBirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has come to some important conclusions in the last few weeks.  They might be ugly, but they're also true.  Tag to episode 2 x 06, <i>Frenemy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude Music

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the length of time it took to get this out; it took a bit for me to figure out how to do a tag for an episode whose end I suspect will be the beginning point of the next upcoming episode. So, this tag is a bit unique - it's more a look into Stiles' thoughts at the moment than anything action based, and the Derek content is very, very light. Consider it an interlude piece between the previous tag and the next.

The past twenty four hours have been...less than stellar. Granted, Stiles has had a lot of less than stellar moments since werewolves came barreling their way into his life, but he thinks this particular period might take the cake. He's gone from having to protect Lydia from four rabid murder!wolves, to Isaac trying to kill him _again_ – and don't think he isn't keeping count – to realizing _Jackson_ is the Kanima, to actually trying to tell his dad something serious, only to have it casually dismissed because of what he's wearing. And, okay, he gets the timing wasn't exactly great, but _come on_!

 

And that? That's just the tip of the iceberg. After that there's grand theft auto, and kidnapping, and having to sponge bathe and dress  _Jackson fucking Whittemore_ which is pretty close to the top of his list of “Things to do Never”, followed with Jackson not believing one goddamn thing Stiles is trying to tell him, not remotely getting they are trying to help keep his stupid ass from killing someone else. Oh, say, someone like Jackson's  _best friend._

 

And then, of course, there's the look of horror on Scott's face, when Stiles suggests they kill Jackson.

 

“ _It's cool, man, ”_ Scott says later, as they drive toward the police station, _“Don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean it. It's been crazy, and you're totally stressed out_.”

 

And Stiles just nods and looks out the window, because Scott absolutely does not get it, does not even remotely comprehend that Stiles means every single word he said. If there's one thing the last few weeks have finally taught him, it's that he can't save everyone, he can only save the few people he really cares about. And if he wants to save those few people, he  _ has _ to stop trying to save the rest of the world. His brain has become a triage scene, separating the gray into whites and blacks, because there's no room for ambiguity, not anymore, not if the people he loves are going to live through this cluster fuck of the supernatural. And maybe yesterday, Jackson sits somewhere right on the line between the two, but then he tries to murder Danny, and if he's so far gone he's willing to do that, then Stiles can't take care of him anymore.

 

So yeah, when Stiles tells Allison to shoot Derek in the head, or tells Scott if they kill Jackson it will solve the problem, he's not joking, he's not reacting, he's not overwhelmed. He's the only person person making sense. He's ashamed of it, he knows it's a terrible, terrible thing; the biggest part of him hopes some  _ deux ex machina _ sweeps in and saves the day before he actually has to follow through on his logic, but it doesn't change the fact it's there, sitting cold and hard and nauseating in his gut.

 

Of course, now that Jackson has escaped – thanks to Scott and Allison and the fact they ignore, like,  _ rule number one  _ in every single horror movie ever made – and told his father about Stiles and Scott's little kidnapping – conveniently leaving out his tiny werelizard problem – he's probably pretty safe from any violence Stiles might commit, although Stiles' safety from his father's wrath has diminished in equal amounts.

 

And that, more than anything, is what puts this day down in the annals of history as worst day ever – in the last year at least; the day his mother dies will always be number one on days that shatter him. It's the look on his father's face, the disappointment, the realization that while he's probably been well aware that Stiles has been lying to him more and more, it's now been confirmed in a way he can't ignore or explain away. They're all they have left, carrying this thing called family and trust and love, and Stiles just dropped his end of the stick most spectacularly.

 

Sitting here, now, on a bench that was probably specifically designed to be the most uncomfortable thing ever for a person's ass, overhearing his father and Mr. Whittemore discuss the appropriate action to take in the matter of teens kidnapping teens, and whether that involves actual jail time or community service or just a restraint order and lifetime grounding, and whether Mr. Whittemore is going to bury Stiles' father along with Stiles and Scott, he hates everyone, from Scott right down to Derek Hale. Every single person that ever expected Stiles would be the one to pull their asses out of the fire or fix their problems or save their life. Because he's just  _ him,  _ and he's only sixteen, and he should be worrying about finals and picking colleges and whether or not he'll have a date to junior prom, not whether he's going to have his throat ripped out if he moves the wrong way.

 

When the fuck did this become his life?

 

He's frustrated enough that he can feel legitimate tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and he blinks them back angrily. He's not going to give them that, too. They're not going to pry that from him. Scott is openly sniveling next to him on the bench, but right now, Stiles can't bring himself to care.

 

On cue, his cell phone beeps in notification of an incoming text. He thumbs it down to read:

 

_ I told you, let the werewolves do the dirty work _ . _ Maybe you should have listened. _

 

He throws his phone across the room in a fit of childish pique. Forget Allison; the next time Derek needs to be shot in the head, Stiles is going to do it himself.


End file.
